


You

by ashmeera101



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:12:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashmeera101/pseuds/ashmeera101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She smelled like cinnamon and something else he couldn't quite place, her hair a wild mess that his fingers couldn't leave alone. Her body, as much as it was muscle and sinew, was still dwarfed by his. His fingers ghosted the length of her back, the dip of her spine, the dimples on either side of her sacrum. Olive skin stretched a little too tight over ribs, the graceful arches of her bones more beautiful than those of the greatest cathedrals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You

He could feel her arms around his waist, her breath warm against the skin of his chest as she slept. If he moved she was bound to wake up, but she was half off the bed and he didn't know how much longer he could lean against the headboard without the wood making permanent indents in his back. Slowly, he moved until she was curled against his chest, head tucked under his chin. She stirred a little, but remained asleep. 

She smelled like cinnamon and something else he couldn't quite place, her hair a wild mess that his fingers couldn't leave alone. Her body, as much as it was muscle and sinew, was still dwarfed by his. His fingers ghosted the length of her back, the dip of her spine, the dimples on either side of her sacrum. Olive skin stretched a little too tight over ribs, the graceful arches of her bones more beautiful than those of the greatest cathedrals. 

He could wax poetic about her for days. Words hastily scribbled on napkins at the Musain as she passed him his tea, the quirk on her lips just for him. Whispered against her skin, moaned against her lips as they made love, the tandem of their hips matching the roar of his heart. And after as they lay in bed, pressed so close it was as if they could meld into a single being. He'd breathe words of beauty into her hair, trace the curve of her jaw before kissing her, the flavour of her mouth banishing all coherent thought from his mind. 

The quiet moments where they would sit side by side, wrapped in her quilt as they listened to the rain. Her lips would trace constellations over the skin of his neck as he tried oh so hard to read Neruda to her. (it was Jehan's idea, but he didn't expect to fall in love with the man's words himself) He would stutter and fumble, blushing furiously as she laughed. And oh that laugh, the harsh barking sound so full of joy. It sent jolts of electricity through him, as suddenly as it escaped her lips. He never knew how and why it made him want to pin her to the floor and devour that smiling mouth. To eat the sunbeam flaring in her lovely body. 

Damn you Neruda. 

Summer brought dresses and bare feet, stolen kisses against the garden shed as Courfeyrac tried to gather the rest of them for hide and seek. How dinners would consist of him trying to hold conversation with Enjolras and Feuilly while trying to ignore the way her fingers were creeping up his leg. She couldn't keep her hands off him – would take any opportunity to brush against him, push him into his room and run her palms under his shirt. She laughed the most then, as if the long days infused her very being with light. 

Nights were spent tangled under his sheets or curled up in front of the television, watching reruns of shows he used to love and movies that made them both cry. She'd bury her face in his shirt, as if her tears would taint his opinion of her. He would rest his chin on her head, like he was doing now, and gather her close, almost crushing her to him. She liked that though, she told him once. The strength of his arms around her made her feel safe. And he enjoyed their proximity, the length of her body flush against him. It helped him concentrate on her, and not the darkness of his own mind. 

He remembered the first time they kissed. It was late and he was in his room, trying to make sense of some god awful assignment due in the next week. The voices were returning, taunting him with biting words, and it was all he could do not to scream and punch a hole in the wall. But then there was a quiet but furious knocking on his door. He opened it only to have her launch right into his arms, almost knocking him to the floor. She was crying, her body wreaked with heaving sobs that sent daggers through him. It was a while before she looked up at him, all smudged mascara and red eyes, the stubborn flare dim in those beautiful pools. That moment, the precise second those haunted eyes locked with his was when his self reserve snapped. 

She tasted like alcohol and cigarettes, and a deeper, darker flavour that he would come to recognise as her own. Her lips melted into his, as if he was the first and only breath she would ever take. And when they finally tore themselves apart, there was a light in her eyes that was never really there before. 

When they made love for the first time, he whispered that he didn't know how to do this, that he'd never done this before. Her eyes brimmed with sudden emotion as she paused, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. They took it slow – he was awkward and she was unfamiliar, more accustomed to quick fucks and one night stands. Her fingers guided his over her body, teaching him how to make her gasp and arch over him. And when her hips rocked against his, dragging him higher and higher, he didn't know what to do except to hold her, his fingers digging into her soft skin. When he finally came, his vision blurred in ecstasy, her face was the only thing he saw. 

It was the most intimate thing he'd ever done. 

Nothing could have prepared him for her, not the thousands of books he'd read, or the millions of facts he kept stored in his mind. She was a whirlwind, a ray of sunlight illuminating his dull life. They both weren't without their demons, as she soon found out about him. She wore them on her sleeve like battle scars, proud of how they make her who she is. He told her this, how she was so much braver than he would ever be, how he couldn't ever do the same with his. But she just shushed him, took his hands in his and told him something he would never forget. 

“You're stronger than you think. You're one of the kindest, most gentle souls I have ever met and I could never think otherwise. Your mind may tell you things, but they aren't true. You're more than what the voices say, Ferre. You're so much more.”

He turned back to the woman in his arms, who was now shifting and squirming awake. A smile tugged at his lips – he loved watching her wake up. 

“It's 4am, why are you awake?” Her voice was rough with sleep and a little whiny. Fingers slowly found their way to his face, resting against his cheek as she dragged herself up to kiss him. 

“I don't know,” he murmured against her mouth, brushing their noses together. “I woke up suddenly and couldn't go back to sleep.”

She was dozing off again, but managed to ask, “What were you thinking about?” 

It struck him that the voices were silent throughout his reverie, not once interrupting his thoughts with their malice. 

“Actually,” he whispered, drawing her close so he could kiss her forehead. “I was thinking about you.”

She was already asleep but her lips curled into a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> woW idk where this came from at all i just wrote it and posted it to tumblr and it got like 32 notes and im still screaming so here you go


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